Belonging
by Rose Tinted Contact Lenses
Summary: Two-parter. After Shepard's death, Tali tries to make a new life on the Migrant Fleet, but memories still haunt her... until she is sent to a small colony named Freedom's Progress.
1. Tali'Zorah vas Neema

_Part of a series - _Observation & Engineering, John, Oblivious, Solace, Loved & Lost _- but can work as a standalone. Bit angsty, this one - the aftermath of Shepard's death._

_Two-parter, so expect the conclusion on Monday._

* * *

><p><strong>Belonging<strong>

**1**

**-Tali'Zorah vas Neema-**

There is no body at the funeral that she can barely bring herself to attend; she stares at the coffin that she knows is empty.

Joker nods to her in acknowledgement, and she does likewise. She looks around for Adams for a few moments, then remembers.

Adams is dead.

* * *

><p>She sells the black enviro-suit, the one she wore to the engineers' funerals, <em>Shepard's<em> funeral, and to her mother's - she intends to make sure she will never wear it again.

* * *

><p>They call her vas Neema - her ship - but she does not belong here.<p>

The corridors are too dark, the engines too loud, and no matter how many times she tries to become used to it, paces the corridors, it is never quite right. _She _is never quite right.

She belongs on the Normandy, with Shepard, and in the mornings she wakes up thinking she is in Engineering, until she remembers that there is no Normandy, no _Shepard, _anymore, and there is nothing she can do to stop the tears that fall, unseen, inside her helmet.

She hears the rumours, knows that there are those that talk about her never quite being the same "since that human's ship went down", but no-one realises why. He was a human, an alien, she a quarian - of course she couldn't have had... _feelings _for him.

* * *

><p>Tali'Zorah sits in the darkness, the dim light of the omni-tool sending a glow onto her face; the atmosphere has been properly adjusted, and now she has taken her mask off.<p>

_He never even got to see me smile._

The thought sends more tears running down her face, and, seeing the others of the crew sleeping around her, she tries very quietly to muffle her sobs.

* * *

><p>For months, she tortures herself, looking up endless reports of the crash, reading the death toll over and over, and it is always when she reaches his name that she has to look away before she crumbles.<p>

* * *

><p>The pain fades, eventually - it has to, otherwise how would she function?<p>

Not completely - there is an ache in her heart for him, right next to her mother's, and she knows from experience that it will never quite disappear - but the crying stops, and the dreams stop.

She misses the dreams - they're the sweetest kind of torture; she is always back at the crash, _always, _and this time, Joker _does _get in the escape pod, and so does Shepard. They are _safe, _he is with her, and, even with the ship crashing and burning behind them, all is right with the world.

She always used to wake up just as she was about to speak to him.

* * *

><p>Even after the dreams stop, when she works in Engineering in the Neema, she always half-expects to hear armoured - but gentle, always gentle, in an attempt not to surprise her too much - footsteps behind her.<p>

Expects his voice, calling in a favour, asking her to fix something he's _inevitably _broken; expects the smile that he still gave her every day, never knowing whether she was returning it - it was the highlight of her days, but, of course, she didn't tell him that, because she was a quarian, and he was a human, and the kind of smile she wanted was one he'd never be able to give her.

She expects the extra protein paste he was always so careful to stock, knowing she needed it, admitting it was disgusting and promising her that one day, he'd take a look round the Citadel and get some proper food that they could both eat. Her heart soars at the memory, dropping to the floor as she realises that she'll never hear that promise again.

* * *

><p>Then, one day, she stops expecting, even half-expecting.<p>

* * *

><p>She knows that she is seen as an adult now, has a ship, and that she should really sell the enviro-suit she's had since she was sixteen, the one that she served on the Normandy in. After all, she has a new one waiting for her, they need supplies, and it is pointless keeping it because of some kind of foolish... attachment.<p>

So, the next time they stop on Ilium, she does.

* * *

><p>The dull ache is still there, but she lives with it; it fades into the background, <em>he <em>fades into the back of her mind, always there but not _all _she thinks of anymore.

The ache turns sharp, however, when she sells the enviro-suit, and there are still nights when she stares at the ceiling, thinking.

Thinking of him; basking in the memories, memories that make her smile before she realises that they are remnants of a past long gone.

* * *

><p>The dark corridors become comfortably lit, and the loud engines become quiet background noise (how could she ever have slept in the Normandy's near-silence?). She isn't quite sure when this happens.<p>

* * *

><p>Her father congratulates her on seeming to have recovered, gives her orders like the Admiral he is. He has never asked what Shepard was to her, and she knows him too well to expect him to.<p>

* * *

><p>They try, standing awkwardly on three-toed feet - <em>Not five, <em>she thinks, quickly quashing the thought - with suggestions of visiting their ships, sometimes gifts, and almost every time she knows it is because her father is an Admiral. Often it is because they are obvious enough to question her about his health straight after her own. She dismisses them, making clumsy excuses.

She pretends that the dull ache doesn't turn sharp every time they try. She pretends not to remember that even Shepard was impressed - "You're _royalty?_" - before she hastily corrected him.

* * *

><p>Still, she turns them away, pretending that it isn't because there is no space in her heart for anyone else.<p>

Not yet.

* * *

><p>It has been two years, and sometimes the memories are fuzzy - she can no longer remember the Mako's numberplate, or Kaidan's favourite film.<p>

Whenever she thinks of Shepard, they snap into focus, however, as if they were yesterday; she denies that it means anything.

* * *

><p>She is given short notice about the mission, and her father is all-business while standing with the Admiralty Board, barely giving her a nod before sending her to this strange new planet.<p>

Freedom's Progress.

A small, ridiculous part of her believes that nothing bad can happen down there. The name is... hopeful, somehow.


	2. John Shepard

_This is the conclusion to _Belonging. _Expect a new story on Friday. _

_I admit, I kind of messed with the re-union scene. Hope it's OK._

* * *

><p><strong>Belonging<strong>

**2**

**-John Shepard-**

Things come into painful focus as his eyes open, his surroundings blurring and then sharpening.

The first thing he notices, other than the fact that his jaw feels like it's on fire, is how _big _this room is - he can't be on the Normandy. He looks around. Where the hell _is _the Normandy?

Then he remembers that there _is _no Normandy, and the fact slams into him, leaving him with a physical pain in his chest.

_Wait - shouldn't I be __**dead? **__The crew - ?_

This and so many other questions rattle around in his head as he tries to snap out of it and begins to systematically, instinctively obey the slightly tinny voice coming from some speakers overhead, his only chance of getting out of here; while playing soldier, he pushes all thoughts to the back of his head, knowing the crew survived, except the _important_ one: _Tali._

* * *

><p><em>Cerberus<em>. Just the name has him having to clamp down on his shaking hands - no, his hands _never _shake, he's held a gun since he was fifteen, but they _are _shaking - and that's when he nearly panics, the closest he comes to losing his composure since he was the scared kid who'd just been recruited.

Akuze, Kahoku... _Their fault._

The first opportunity he gets, he's out of here; the very thought of working for them feels... _dirty, _somehow, like a stain he'd never be able to wash off, never mind the fact that their technology is _in _him - does that mean they own him? Is this even _him_ thinking this, or is he just some terrorist puppet engineered to look like and think vaguely like the old John Shepard?

He can't even bring himself to look the operatives - one of whom killed a man in _cold blood, _insisting she was right_ - _ in the eye.

He tries to avoid worrying about the crew, knowing that the vast majority got to the escape pods, avoids thinking about the Cerberus owned, reconstructed body he's in, because it sends bile to the back of his throat (this "iconic Commander Shepard" they seem to be looking for, the hero to rally the troops, wouldn't be sick all over their shiny ship floor, he supposes). It won't solve anything anyway, so he focuses on the one thing he hopes will get him through, the mantra going through his head that even the reasonable soldier in him can't push out of his head, because it feels like it's in his blood and his heart now. _She's alive. She's alive. Tali's alive._

* * *

><p>Her name is still in his head as he stares at the guy - at the <em>hologram <em>of the guy, he corrects himself - in the office chair, noting his cold, controlled front and his _glowing, unnaturally blue eyes. _Shepard wonders if he tries out the cybernetics on the Cerberus recruits before he uses them himself.

He asks about every one of his crew, the old squad, devouring information about them, almost treating it like oxygen, though the diplomatic, seasoned commander in him knows not to show it - he doesn't want to give this guy any sort of upper hand, show that he has anything he needs.

He doesn't give this "Illusive Man" the satisfaction of thinking that he's weak; he meets that intense, glaring, technologically-enhanced stare every time it's directed at him, walking out of the holo room with head held high and fury in his heart.

Even his _death _wasn't allowed to be on his own terms.

* * *

><p>"Just like old times, huh?"<p>

John smiles to see his pilot again (sure, Joker's pride got him _killed, _but that's something for another day, and maybe bygones should be bygones, and right now his head's too full of _Tali_ to focus on anything else), but he knows that he's wrong - this ship will _never _be the old Normandy, and every time he instinctively looks to his side, _she _isn't there. She's on her own ship now, leading her own squad, and a welling of pride fights with the sudden ache in his chest at the thought of it.

* * *

><p>This Normandy doesn't feel like <em>his <em>did. He needs to take a look around and meet the new crew, and part of him wants to, but the other part of him just wants to cling onto whatever he has left from the past, so, only half-realising where his feet are leading him, he finds himself behind Joker's chair.

Surely there must be _something_ wrong with the ship? Surely Joker must hate the AI? Anything that will make a foolish, childish part of him feel better in knowing that this ship isn't as good as _his _Normandy.

His heart sinks as he realises that Joker is _grinning,_ and as his pilot heaps praise on this new ship, a bitter little part of him thinks, _Leather seats are no exchange for __**loyalty.**_

* * *

><p>He vaguely remembers Freedom's Progress - it's a tiny colony, mostly for research, but he thinks he might have been stationed there once. He sleepwalks round his new crew on the journey, trying to make conversation like the good commander they've apparently heard so much about, but barely registers their names.<p>

_It's been two years. The old crew, they're all gone. _He doesn't know this ship, barely knows any of the crew.

He doesn't belong here.

He tells himself it's a stupid thought, that he often got posted to different ships; that's the way the Alliance works, he should be used to transfers and cutting ties by now. He ignores the thought in the back of his mind that the Normandy crew were the closest thing he's ever had to a family.

_At least they're alive. She's alive. _As he smiles and compliments this crew that aren't his, handles it all _so_ calmly, he thinks that those are the thoughts keeping him sane._  
><em>

* * *

><p>The only thing that seems to snap him out of this autopilot state is seeing Chakwas again. His heart soars, and for a moment it's just like old times...<p>

... Until he realises that the crew are gone and this isn't _his _ship - it belongs to Cerberus, and they've probably got bugs in every inch of the walls.

* * *

><p>There's barely any impact when the ship lands cleanly on the planet - he'd forgotten just <em>how <em>good Joker was - but he still feels it, looking up and slipping the last armour piece on, making sure the gauntlet's secure, and grabbing an assault rifle and shotgun that have mysteriously appeared in his weapons locker: _Cerberus. _He dimly realises that these weapons are actually better than his old ones, but determinedly ignores the thought. He refuses to be grateful for anything _they_ give him.

Telling the Cerberus operatives that seem to have decided to take charge of his life to follow him, he steps out of the airlock and onto the planet's surface.

* * *

><p><em>It's deserted<em>, he thinks, looking around, a rising feeling of foreboding making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Apprehension saturates the air here, the silence deafening and the conspicuous _emptiness _of the place haunting their every step.

Putting who they work for to the back of his mind - he's "Commander Shepard" now, _his _personal alliances don't matter on the battlefield - he gives Lawson and Taylor as many orders as he can think of.

It's only when the mechs start shooting at them that he realises that they must have been programmed. They aren't alone here after all.

* * *

><p>He stops in his tracks when the next door they open reveals a team of quarians. <em>What the - ?<em>

For a moment, he's too busy focusing on the fact that one of them seems to be waving a gun at him and shouting that he works with Cerberus to take a closer look at the other, female quarian ordering her teammate to stand down.

Eventually, he does.

Wait - he _must_ be wrong. He looks to her with a frown, ordering the Cerberus agents to lower their weapons, because, though half of him is telling him he's probably mistaken, that you can't really see who quarians _are _under their enviro-suits, the other half of him has somehow known since he saw her, since he heard her voice.

He's known her long enough to be able to tell that she's wide-eyed under the mask. "_Shepard - ?"_

He nods slowly, putting away his assault rifle as a gesture of trust at the same time as she does; Lawson stares at him in horror, as if to ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing, surrendering in a room full of armed aliens, but Jacob seems to trust his judgement, and straps his gun away as well.

Shepard ignores Lawson. Like he would shoot _Tali, _anyway. It may have been two years for her, but for him, it was _yesterday. _"I guess there's... uh, a lot to catch up on. Being dead kind of takes you out of the loop." He gives her an almost sheepish grin.

The hug takes him by surprise, as well as the whispered words for his ears alone: "I thought you were _dead, _John."

He says, quietly, "I _was._ I'll explain. Later."

"_Tell me _you're not with Cerberus."

He shakes his head. "Never."

She steps away, and even though she's standing with her new team again and everyone else in the room is staring at them as if they've grown an extra head each, for a brief, treasured second, it's just like old times.

Though he's tried to fight the admission, knowing she's moved on, it hits him hard, and he can't pretend anymore.

He belongs here.

He belongs where she is.


End file.
